Unfamiliar Territory
by Fleura45
Summary: Dempsey and Makepeace conduct a successful drug bust on a large London-based gang, but the repercussions of their actions spell danger, and take them into unfamiliar territory in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long day, out on an isolated Essex farm, rounding up the drug gang, but they had managed it. Dusk was falling and Spikings and the team had already left. Makepeace stood watching Dempsey dabbing his bloody brow. It was already swelling up, and she murmured in sympathy.

'You need to get something cold on that.' Dempsey grinned at her tiredly.

She was still dressed in her disguise: they'd gained access to the farm using their usual married couple routine, and she wore an oversized sweater, skin-tight black trousers, high heeled boots and frosted eye shadow. The big hair that completed the look wasn't really her, but it had helped to convince the gang that they were Mr and Mrs Jenson of New Jersey. Dempsey of course, hadn't had to try too hard.

They were lucky to have escaped with only one bashed-up eye between them thought Harry, as they got into the back of the squad car and the uniformed copper pulled away and headed down the dirt track. Delaney's men were vicious, the worst she had encountered in a while. It was only their quick firing that had saved them and enabled them to overpower the gang. Still, she was deeply satisfied with the day's work.

Dusk fell as the car sped towards London. Neither of them said much. She was exhausted. The warmth and movement calmed her and she let herself loll against Dempsey as her eyelids grew heavy. Without meaning to, she slept.

When Harry opened her eyes, it was dark. Dempsey's arm was around her, her head resting against his shoulder. She stayed still, enjoying the warmth and closeness for a moment. She could feel his cheek resting lightly against her hair. The car made a right turn, and he reached up to hold her steady against the movement. Normally, she would have sat up straight at once, terminated the situation to prevent it becoming any more intimate. But she was so very tired, and nestling into his shoulder made her feel safe and secure.

Finally, she sat up and rubbed her stiff neck. They were crawling through the London traffic, moving slowly along the Embankment. She sighed. It was a Friday evening in November and the pavements were full of people hurrying home, glad of the arrival of the weekend. Rain splattered the tarmac and umbrellas jostled for position.

'Hey partner' Dempsey said softly, quietly enough to be beyond the earshot of the copper who was driving them. 'You were out for quite a while there. Chasing villains in Essex must've got to you.'

She yawned. 'We WERE chasing them a good while. I thought we'd never catch up with Greggs. Good thing there are two of us.'

'Yeah, but you being a woman and all… tired you out's all I'm saying.'

She ran a hand through her hair and shot him a look, feeling too weary to accept the invitation to spar.

'Dempsey, are you trying to provoke me? Well for once, it's not going to work. I'm not ashamed in the slightest to tell you that I'm tired, and I want nothing more than a hot bath and a large glass of red, then bed.'

'Sounds good to me, babe.' He looked out of the window.

She was about to set him straight, but then she softened. He looked shattered himself, and his eye was swelling up dramatically.

'I've got a good first aid kit at home' she said after a pause. 'Want me to fix that cut up for you?'

His smile answered her question. She leaned forward and addressed the driver.

'Tom, straight to my flat, please.'

By the time they pulled into Harry's drive, at was after 8 pm. Tom bid them goodnight and drove away. They stood together for a moment in the chill of the evening. She touched his eye briefly, unable to hide her concern. The cut looked nasty.

'Harry…' Dempsey began. His voice was hoarse. She cut him off.

'Come on let's go inside. I've had about enough drama for one day, haven't you?'

Twenty minutes later, Dempsey was showered and changed into the street clothes they'd retrieved from Tom's boot. Having finished the sandwich she had made, he sat by the fire in Makepeace's front room while she bathed his brow with antiseptic. Although he winced with each touch he was enjoying it immensely, especially the sympathetic little coos she emitted with each sharp intake of his breath. Her face was very close to his; he could smell her perfume and observe the way her brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she meticulously cleaned the wound.

_Oh Harry, why do you have to be so beautiful?_ _It makes working with you so much more complicated. _

She dressed the cut with tiny strips of plaster. He was disappointed when she sat back and admired her handy work from a distance.

'That should close it up more quickly.' she said. 'It's more superficial than I thought. I don't think you'll scar.'

'Hey, baby, I had plenty of scars this morning. One more ain't gonna make no difference. Now where's that glass of red?'

'Give me one minute.'

She left the room. He sat back and stared into the fire, allowing a sense of calm to wash over him. It had been a tough job, but they had done some good work today. They'd managed to round up three of the four main ringleaders of the drug smuggling gang, and Dempsey was willing to bet that interrogating Greggs and his cohorts would dredge up all sorts of interesting information about other underground criminal activities in London.

It was just unfortunate that Mickey Delaney, the fourth and final member of the team, had been absent. He was bound to go to ground now, thought Dempsey. They probably wouldn't hear about him again until the heat had completely died down – it could be years. _You can't have everything all the time_ he thought wryly. But the missing member of the gang left a bad feeling that he couldn't seem to shake.

Harry returned with the bottle of wine and two glasses. She had changed too, into jeans and a sheer black top that hugged her body. She poured the drinks and handed one to him.

'Cheers.' They clinked glasses. She moved to the opposite side of the hearth and they sat without speaking for a while. The silence between them was comfortable: he realised that they had spent so much time in each other's company over the past six months that they no longer needed to talk for politeness' sake.

Finally, Harry spoke.

'Some day.' She played with her wine glass.

'I thought that Knox guy was going to kill us when he realised they'd been rumbled.'

Dempsey nodded. 'I know, me too. I didn't mean to leave you on your own with him you know, but I figured you could handle it.'

'Of course I could. He was a walkover really. I don't think he could believe it when he saw my gun. The combination of Jean-Anne from Jersey City and a semi-automatic weapon just wasn't registering with his brain. Anyway, I had to have my wits about me. I wasn't at all sure you were going to come out of that fistfight alive. And I'd have been on my own.'

'Were you worried then?'

She took a sip of her wine.

'Honestly? No. I knew you'd be okay.'

She laughed, looked over at him in a way that was both playful and tender.

'He certainly gave you a battering though.'

'He did, but there was no question of me losing that fight.'

'No?'

'My honour was at stake. I couldn't let my wife down.'

He looked at her intently.

'That would never do' she said slowly, her gaze never leaving his. The moment seemed to last for a long time, and he was conscious of his heart pumping. He could feel the electricity between them and leaned forward, not thinking about anything except how much he wanted to touch her. He put down his wine glass and reached out. Suddenly there was a loud crash from the kitchen.

They were on their feet in seconds. Dempsey reached for his gun, and moved silently to the doorway.


	2. Chapter 2

Moving quickly through the doorway, Dempsey crossed the hall and entered the kitchen. He scanned the room - there was nobody there. The large picture window at the far end had been smashed, and a cold draft circulated. Outside, there was only darkness. It was impossible to know if anyone was still there.

Dempsey looked down. The object that had shattered the window lay on the floor in front of him. It was a package, a small square box wrapped in brown paper and tied roughly with thick string. He circled it without touching it and moved carefully to the window, careful to stay against the wall and out of plain sight. From this position, he peered through the window into the dark garden. If there was anyone watching, he couldn't see or sense them.

"It's okay" he said to Harry, who was standing in the doorway. He put his gun away. She came to join him.

"Someone's idea of a little joke" he said.

Together, they looked down at the package on the floor. He didn't like the shape of it - squat and toad-like. Something about it was giving him the willies already. He looked at Harry and saw the same thing in her eyes.

"Should we open it? It might be explosives. Or poison." She was almost whispering.

"From the way it was delivered, I'm guessing it isn't an early Christmas present."

Dempsey knelt down and picked up the packet gingerly.

"Feels pretty solid." He said. "You move out the way. I'll open it up here."

"I don't fancy cleaning your remains off my kitchen floor if it IS an explosive, Dempsey."

"Relax babe. I'm a cat with many lives. Hand me that sharp knife on the side there."

With a few rough cuts, Dempsey broke the string fastening and removed the paper, revealing a heavy metal box. After a moment's hesitation, he opened it. He had half expected something like what he found inside, but he still dropped it pretty quickly anyway.

On a bed of tissue paper was a human finger – an index finger by the look of it - grey and lifeless, severed at the knuckle. It was big enough to be a man's, and Dempsey could see the gingery hairs above the joint, the nail dirty and tinged with purple. A large signet ring was still in place, set with a cheap-looking red stone.

He turned and looked at Makepeace, who was peering over his shoulder. Her face had turned faintly green.

"This is the second time I've seen that ring today." She said. "Last time, the finger it was attached to was rather more alive."

He looked at her quizzically. The ring held no significance for him.

"Dempsey, it's Johnny Suggs. I'd recognise the ring anywhere."

Dempsey felt sick. Suggs - the informer who had tipped them off about the gang's whereabouts. The guy who had actually _driven_ them to the farm, on the pretext of making a few bob out of naïve yank tourists intent on exploring quaint old English properties. A rough and ready villain to be sure, but he had joked with them on the journey a little, had told them he was heading straight back to London because he had to pick his grandson up from school.

Harry sat down heavily on a stool at the kitchen counter.

"I think I get the message." She said. "Loud and clear."

"It would seem that our friend Mickey Delaney somehow got wind of who took us to the farm" said Dempsey. "And it doesn't seem like he's very happy about the turn of events either. Now there's a surprise."

"What I am _slightly_ concerned about" said Harry, reaching into a cupboard and retrieving a bottle of whisky with a shaky hand, "is quite how he knows where I live."

She poured them both a hefty slug and they drank for a moment in silence, the finger in its box on the floor a constant presence.

"Someone was watching the farm, another of Delaney's associates. They spotted Suggs, either dropping us off or driving away" he said, draining his glass and reaching to refill it.

"But how would they know he was in on it?" said Harry, "he could have been as in the dark as any of the others."

"These people don't take chances. Probably didn't worry too much about the finer details. They must've suspected something pretty quick though. Quick enough to keep watching the property while we was wrapping things up."

"Then, brazen bastards that they are, they followed us from the farm, back here, at some point relieving Suggs of his right index finger."

Harry shuddered. She didn't want to think about where the rest of Suggs might be.

"Why would Delaney taunt us like this?" she pondered. "Why would he draw more attention to himself? It doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't make sense to me either." admitted Dempsey. "Seems as though he's taken the whole thing personally. He's certainly thrown down the gauntlet with this."

"What shall we do?" she said, sighing. "I'm exhausted. Although a severed hand in my kitchen has made me rather less happy about retiring for the evening."

"We do nothing until morning" he decided.

"You're coming home with me princess, after we drop Suggs' body part off at Forensics. Then we make a plan tomorrow, when our heads are clear."


	3. Chapter 3

When Dempsey awoke the next morning, the throbbing of his swollen eye was the first thing he was aware of. Watery dawn filtered through the curtains, but the window seemed to be in the wrong place. He lay for a moment, disorientated, before he remembered that he was on his sofa in the living room because Makepeace was in his bed. His watch said 7.20am.

He rose from the couch and padded to the window. Holland Park was spread out below him, desolate in the half-light. It was the beginning of another bleak winter's day. Dempsey rubbed his eyes wearily, not feeling refreshed from his short sleep. It had taken them some time to get through to Forensics and deposit the 'gift'.

They'd finally crashed here at around two in the morning. It had been a long night, and he could feel in his bones that there was a long day ahead.

Moving quietly over to the open plan kitchen area, he peered at his reflection in the polished glass of the cooker door. His eye seemed to be turning a ripe shade of purple. From the breakfast bar, he surveyed the living room, relieved to see that it was at least clean and tidy, albeit devoid of many personal or comforting touches. He hadn't bargained on Harry paying a visit, and this was only the second time she had been to his place, although he had been to hers many times. Her apartment always seemed like more of a home somehow; a relaxing place where you would want to spend time.

He was very glad his cleaner had visited yesterday. A quick glance in the fridge confirmed that she had supplied him with bread, milk, eggs, butter, cheese and bacon. Dempsey grinned at his good fortune. Left to himself, he'd have nothing to offer Harry but stale instant coffee – and certainly no food. He was grateful to Anoushka, the polish woman who cleaned for him and regularly stocked his cupboards. He'd never asked her to do his shopping; only to come twice a week and keep the place looking presentable - and the first time food had appeared in his cupboards he had tried to protest, but she had just shaken her head at him in a vaguely pitying way, as if to say _how else do you expect to survive, living here in a strange city on your own, in an apartment you only visit to sleep?_

Standing waiting for the coffee to percolate, Dempsey ran the events of the previous day through his mind. He wondered how Harry really felt about the intrusion into her apartment last night. She had taken it in her stride in the usual way, but although the two of them had made as light of it as possible, it was nonetheless extremely disconcerting that Delaney and his cronies knew where she lived – she must feel it acutely. He felt indescribably angry when he thought about the nerve of the man, the brutality of the action, and Harry's pallid face looking at the finger in the box on the floor.

He peaked into the bedroom. She was fast asleep; one arm thrown over the edge of the bed, and to his relief, her face was peaceful and calm. He had a sudden urge to go closer, to reach out and stroke her hair, but he resisted. Better to let her rest while she could.

For what seemed like a long time, he sat drinking his coffee and looking out of the big living room window, watching the winter sunrise over the park. Last night had been bad, but it could have been worse – much worse. Immersed in their husband and wife role-play, they had been on a high after the drug operation went smoothly. They had managed to infiltrate the gang with no trouble at all (Makepeace could play the innocent ingénue like no one else when the situation required it) and Spikings' team had burst in to round up the three ringleaders of the gang plus the numerous accomplices present. It was a big coup.

But now it seemed that the omission of Delaney was going to cause them serious problems. Dempsey re-played the sound of the smashing window again in his mind. It had come out of the blue, had caught them both completely off guard. Someone was angry – very angry indeed. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he knew it would be a while before he allowed Harry to spend time alone at home again. They had to find to Delaney, and find him fast. It was as simple as that.

The bedroom door opened and he turned to see her emerge. She had pulled on jeans and was still wearing the shirt he had lent her. "Morning" she said, running a hand through her hair.

"Mornin' angel. You want coffee?"

"Mmm, please."

"How'd you sleep?"

"Oh, you know. Took me a while to get off. But then, a severed finger through the kitchen window will do that to you every time."

She smiled weakly. He went over to the breakfast bar and poured a cup of coffee.

"How'd you sleep out here?" She asked.

"Not bad," he lied. "I was up early this morning. Thinkin' things through."

"Come up with any solutions to this mess?"

"Not so far. I was thinkin' the breakfast I'm gonna make us will help the brain cells."

"You? Make breakfast?" She wrinkled her nose incredulously.

"Sure, why not?" her disbelief nettled him. Although he had to admit she looked very cute when she looked at him like that...

"I never would have believed it" she said. "Just don't poison me, ok?"

"I'll try my best" he grouched, stomping back towards the kitchen.

Harry settled down on the couch to watch him.


	4. Chapter 4

The following afternoon saw Dempsey and Makepeace staking out a warehouse in the no man's land between Kentish Town and Chalk Farm. When they had arrived at the SI10 office that morning, Chas was all ready for them with a positive ID on the finger: just has Harry had guessed, it belonged to Johnny Suggs. Ominously, the rest of Suggs was yet to be located.

"We're working on it" Chas told them. We've got divers trawling the Thames in the vicinity of Harry's flat."

Soon after that, an informer called in with a tip-off: one of Delaney's close associates, an Irishman named Rory McAdam, had business interests in a self-storage company in North West London and went there most days. With most of the gang now in captivity, McAdam was one of Delaney's few trusted men still left on the streets, and following him could well lead to his hide-out.

"Dempsey, Makepeace – you get a tail on him, you call in – do you hear?" Spikings had bellowed after them as they disappeared towards the door with the information.

"We can't afford to take chances with Delaney. Yesterday showed us what we're dealing with."

"Got it boss" Dempsey had drawled, and then they were gone.

Spikings had tried unsuccessfully to quell the familiar irritation he felt towards the maverick Yank. If he and Makepeace didn't consistently achieve the results they did, he'd have had Dempsey shipped back across the pond long ago. As it was, he just lit a cigarette and sucked on it furiously.

Now, Dempsey watched Harry run through the rain back towards the car, a brown paper-wrapped sandwich in each hand. Since he had been the one complaining of hunger for the past three hours, he felt slightly guilty he hadn't gone to the café himself, but he knew he'd probably have inadvertently got her something she didn't like.

When she reached the passenger side, pulled the door open and threw the sandwiches on the dashboard, before getting in beside Dempsey.

For a while they sat eating in silence, watching the rain patter monotonously against the grey pavements. At this time of the day – just after three pm - there were very few people in evidence on the industrial estate. Occasionally, a van passed by, or a dog walker.

Harry's hair was still wet from her excursion to the café, and every so often she shivered. She checked her watch.

"He's been in there for coming up to an hour and a half now. How long do you think we're going to have to wait for him?"

"Could be 10 minutes, could be an hour. Depends how well their meeting's going, I suppose." Dempsey said.

"There's always the chance that he spotted us" said Harry. "He could have left via a back entrance or something."

'No way. His car's still here, and he definitely didn't see us."

Just as Dempsey spoke, the door of the warehouse opened and two men came out. It was McAdam and another man neither of them recognised. They appeared to be deep in negotation. McAdam was tall and balding, with a ruddy face and bushy black eyebrows. He was wearing a cheap-looking business suit. The other man was shorter, fatter, and more casually dressed; perhaps the warehouse manager. Dempsey sat up straight at the sight of them and swallowed the last bite of his sandwich. Then, to Harry's distaste, he shoved the empty wrapper down at his feet.

"Dempsey, I do wish you wouldn't treat the car like a dustbin. At least use the glove compartment."

Dempsey glanced at her irritably.

"Sorry if I'm offending your sensibilities m'Lady. I've kinda got more important things on my mind right now!"

"That doesn't excuse slobbishness!"

He was about to compose a suitably colourful retort, when the two men finished their conversation and parted company. McAdam turned and walked in their direction, moving towards his car. The other man headed in the direction of the underground station. Instinctively, Harry ducked low in her seat. As far as she was aware, McAdam didn't know either of them, but there was no point in taking chances.

Dempsey waited until the Irishman had got into his red Ford Escort and pulled away from the curb before he set off in pursuit, keeping at a respectable distance.

McAdam turned on to the high street and then headed towards Camden Town. The rain made visibility difficult, and heavy traffic forced Dempsey to move closer to the Escort to avoid losing it. Finally, at Warren Street station, the man turned right onto Euston Rd, heading west and away from the city centre.

Harry was perplexed. "Delaney's based in South London isn't he? So where's our man off to?"

They were close enough that she could see McAdam's face in his rear view mirror. He was staring intently at the road.

"Stay back a bit, I don't want him to notice us now we're moving out of the city" she said. Dempsey nodded.

"It seems as though our Irish friend is taking us on a magical mystery tour. We just have to follow along and see what we find."

Harry looked uncertain. "So we just continue to follow him? This could be a trap, Dempsey!"

"It's possible," agreed Dempsey. "Although I'm pretty sure he ain't seen us so far."

Suddenly, the radio cut in. "_Control to Charlie 5. State your position please_."

Harry snatched it up. "Charlie 5 to Control. We're heading over the West Way flyover in pursuit of subject, over."

"Do you need backup, over?"

She glanced at him. Dempsey shook his head imperceptibly. His intuition told him that backup at this stage was a bad idea.

"Backup request denied. Over and out." Harry gave him another look.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Dempsey."

"Angel, have I ever got us in trouble before?"

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Well we're still here laughing, aren't we?"

She didn't answer. They were approaching the city limits now, moving quickly on the dual carriageway. There were three other cars between them and the red Escort.

"It could be a trap," she repeated.

"Could be."

"You're not the one who had a severed finger thrown through your window" she said, with a sudden flush of anger. "Who knows what these people are capable of! I don't think we should go any further without requesting support."

"Makepeace, nothing is going to happen to us. I won't let it. Now would you just calm down and focus on what we're doing. We can't afford to panic!"

He looked at her, alarmed at the fear in her voice. It wasn't something he had heard very often, and because he associated fear with weakness, it disturbed him. And it was very out of character for Harry.

He softened.

"Listen, when we get to wherever Bozo here is takin' us, we radio and request back-up. But for now, we run with what he's givin' us. More units on his tail are just going to put the wind up him, and I'm pretty sure he ain't seen us. I'm right with you. It's gonna be okay partner, and when we're done with them you ain't gonna have to worry about any more body parts in your kitchen."

He paused. "Anyway, we gotta sort this out today."

"And why is that?" she asked him.

"Cos you really don't want to be crashing at my place another night, do you? The catering ain't to your standard!"

"This is true." He saw the ghost of a smile.

"Alright then, we do it your way. But you'd better be know what you're doing, Dempsey!"

Twenty minutes later, and they were in open countryside. The rain had let up finally, but there was still unrelenting greyness. The red Escort in front of them slowed and turned off the road.


	5. Chapter 5

Dempsey tailed the car along the narrow country lane, keeping as close as he dared. After about two miles, it turned off again, down what appeared to be a private drive with a cattle grid at its mouth. He stopped the car at the entrance and looked at Harry, undecided.

"Whaddya think? What's our next move?" he asked.

She thought for a moment. "I can't see any security cameras, but it would be pretty silly to follow him in the car. Why don't we park up and continue on foot?"

He nodded, relieved to hear the familiar certainty in her voice again. She'd had him worried for a while - he'd wondered if she was getting spooked. Now she sounded far more resolute. Perhaps it was being out here, the thought. The Home Counties were her turf. For him, this was far more unfamiliar territory.

'You got it.' He drove past the entrance and parked the car in a lay-by. It had started spitting rain again, and Dempsey swore as they set off walking. His leather jacket provided scant protection, and he had a feeling that there was going to be mud as well as rain this afternoon. Harry was better protected in the belted mackintosh she kept in the boot of the SI10 car. He looked at her enviously.

"How come you're always so well prepared, Makepeace?"

"I suppose boarding school life taught me efficiency, among other things"

"Oh yeah, what other things?"

"A multitude of things, Dempsey. You'd be surprised."

"Surprise me then."

"Maybe another time."

"I'll hold ya to that."

They crossed the cattle grid and walked cautiously along the sweeping drive. Well-groomed open land rolled out on either side of them. As they turned a corner, a large old house came into view, around 300 metres up ahead. Feeling suddenly exposed, Dempsey motioned to Harry, and they moved off the drive onto the grass, heading for thick shrubbery to their right.

Better concealed, they moved as close to the house as they could, until they were about 50 metres away.

"What do we do now?" asked Harry. They were both crouching down low, scanning the windows of the house for activity. "I'm worried there might be guard dogs on the property."

"Yeah. You'd kind of expect nasty ones with these characters." He wiped the rain off the back of his neck.

"Waddya think? Is this place anything to do with Delaney or what? For all we know, McAdam's just visiting his great aunt Mary who lives out in the sticks."

Suddenly, Harry gripped his arm.

"Look at the conservatory!" She hissed. She pointed to the glass dome that backed onto the lawn behind the house. A light had just been lit, and four male figures could clearly be seen moving around the room.

"It's Delaney, I can see him!" she said.

"You can?" asked Dempsey uncertainly. He couldn't clearly see the faces of any of the men.

"I'd know him anywhere" she said decisively. "He's in there with McAdam and a couple of other people."

'Well, well. This is a new place for him to be hangin' out. Definitely not on the radar."

"What's our plan?"

"Makepeace, the damn rain is running down my neck. Let's find somewhere to shelter, then see how close we can get. If there are only four of them in there, we could try and handle it ourselves."

She looked at him. 'How _do_ we know there are only four of them?"

"I guess we don't."

"I want to radio Spikings."

"Go back to the car? It's risky. If it is Delaney there's no way he won't have people watching the place. If they haven't already seen us, you breaking cover again is just asking for trouble."

"It's even more risky us handling this without letting Base know what we're up to."

Their eyes met, and Dempsey grudgingly relented. There was no way he could ever say no to her when she looked at him like that. The realisation of this made him uncomfortable, but there was little he could do about it.

"Ok. Go ahead, and I'll wait here. But be careful."

"You know I will."

She moved swiftly back through the shrubbery, only breaking onto open land when there was absolutely no more cover. Once she reached the point where the driveway twisted away out of sight of the house, she risked moving onto it, picking up speed until she was back at the cattle grid.

At the car, she radioed Base and updated Chas on their whereabouts.

"Around four miles from Great Missenden" she told him. "We're in Bucks. Request back up. We have seen four suspects on the property."

Then Spikings was on the line.

"Sergeant!' He barked. "You hold your positions until back up arrives. Do you read me? Over."

"Yes Sir." She replied. She agreed with him and was pleased she would be able to tell Dempsey that this course of action was coming from Spikings, rather than simply just her own assessment of the situation.

"Alright." He said. "We'll be there as soon as we can. Bloody Hell, Essex one day, Buckingham the next, we're turning into regular tourists!"

She smiled. "Over and out sir."

He was right, realised Harry. Being out here in the country felt odd and unfamiliar, and she wasn't sure whether she liked that. _Out of our comfort zone_, she thought, then laughed at the notion of the mean streets of London being comforting.

She was about to re-trace her steps, when she remembered the energy bars in the glove compartment of Dempsey's car.

"Never know how long we're going to be here" she thought to herself, and reached in to retrieve them. She never heard the footsteps coming softly up behind her, but she certainly felt the baseball bat as it smashed down onto the back of her head. Pain exploded behind her eyes, and then everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

**Caution: there's a word that some people might find offensive used in context in this chapter. **

Part One.

Dempsey was starting to get anxious. Harry had been gone for over twenty-five minutes now – too long. He hadn't moved from his hiding place, but the more time that passed, the more he was racked by indecision. He was becoming increasingly convinced that something had happened to her. What to do? Head back to the car and investigate? Or try and get closer to the house?

Suddenly, he saw two figures approaching the house from the direction of the road. They were carrying something between them. To his horror, he realised it was Harry, limp and lifeless, her head hanging like a rag doll over the shoulder of the taller man. She was clearly unconscious; please God, only unconscious. He went absolutely cold.

His first instinct was to rush from his hiding place and start shooting, but he managed to hold himself back. It could be suicide for both of them, and he had no idea how many people were hiding out here. It seemed now that there were certainly more than four: how had he missed these two? Where had they come from? Guilt flooded through him. _I should have let her request back up from the beginning. I shouldn't have let her go back to the car_. Hindsight was a wonderful thing. Where had they ambushed her?

They had disappeared from view now, presumably inside. He had to get closer to the house. In front of the conservatory was a long sloping back lawn, at the end of which was a small building that appeared to be a shed. If he could reach that, it would afford him a better perspective on the back of the property and afford the opportunity to scope out possible entry points; plus it would offer some shelter while he plotted his next move.

It took another ten long minutes for Delaney and the other three to get up and leave the conservatory. Without thinking too much about who might be watching, Dempsey broke free of the trees and sprinted towards the shed. His gun was drawn and he looked straight ahead. There was rage in his chest at the thought of what had happened to Harry, and he used it to propel himself with lightening speed.

He reached the shed but the door was held closed with a flimsy lock. He wrenched it open with a strength borne of desperation, and stood panting in the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust. There was an old, musty smell he didn't much like. The image of the greying finger flashed into his mind again, quickly followed by one of Harry's prone body being roughly carried by the men. A new sensation curdled in his stomach. It was something fairly unfamiliar to Dempsey and it took him a few seconds to realise that it was fear. He pushed it away savagely.

Part Two.

The first thing she was aware of was the pain. Her head was splitting, and she rolled over, groaning. _Where was I last night? Was I drinking whisky or something? I've never, ever had a hangover this bad_.

But the memory wasn't there – there was only a blank.

She reached for the water glass she always kept on her bedside table, but something was wrong. She couldn't move her hands. She licked her lips painfully, and gradually, it began to come to her. She wasn't at home, she was… where was she?

Slowly, her eyes started to focus. She was lying on the floor of a small room, carpet against her cheek. There was silence, and it was gloomy: it felt like the evening. Then suddenly, she remembered: following McAdam, the house near Great Missenden, Dempsey – oh God, what had happened? She flashed back to radioing Spikings, and after that? Her mind reached for a memory, but there was nothing.

She tried to move again with renewed vigour. Her hands were tied tightly behind her back, and utterly numb. Together with the throbbing of her head, the dryness in her mouth was almost unbearable. She coughed harshly; gagged.

Finally, she succeeded in sitting up. There was a narrow couch in the room, and she levered herself against it until she was upright. Her ankles had also been tied she now saw, with what looked like hemp twine. She seemed to be on the ground floor, there was a floor-length window to her left, but it was too dark to see anything outside.

Harry leaned her head back against the couch and fought the waves of nausea. Where was Dempsey? Had they caught him too? She had to get herself free – she was as good as dead if she stayed here, she knew that, but the rope around her wrists was synched so tightly, she could barely wiggle her fingers. Bracing her numb hands against the carpet, she began to try and push her backside over her bound wrists.

Suddenly, the door opened and McAdam entered with another man. They looked down at her without speaking. Her heart was pounding wildly, but she stared defiantly back at them.

"Managed to sit yourself up did you, bitch?"

McAdam's accent was thick. Harry had always associated Irish voices with warmth, and she knew she never would again.

"You're wasting energy trying to get free, you know. It ain't happening."

"Why have you done this?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice calm.

The two men looked at each other and laughed.

"Let's see shall we? We see you on our patch, come and investigate and find you with a gun under your jacket. We know who you are, Sergeant. Shame you didn't bring your sidekick with you to help you out. Very unlucky. For you, that is."

Harry blinked and tried not to react. So they hadn't seen Dempsey.

"What do you want with me?" she asked.

"Well, let's think about that," McAdam moved closer.

"Quite a few of our colleagues are behind bars, thanks to you and your partner. Mr Delaney wasn't very happy about that. In fact, I think he was planning on paying you a visit himself over the next few days. Turns out, you've completely saved him the trouble by coming to us."

"Maybe I could talk to Delaney…" she began. McAdam snorted.

"The time for talking has been and gone, Sergeant. Delaney tried to strike a deal with your superior when these little – _problems _– with suppliers first started, and he wasn't very accommodating. Seems his little protégée's going to pay the price for that. Oh dear."

"What are you going to do with me?" She was very, very frightened now, but she wouldn't let them see it.

"Move you away from here for a start, before your colleagues come looking. After that, I really couldn't say. We'll leave you alone to have a think about that."

They turned to go. "Wait!" she called. "I need to drink something. I feel very weak. And… I need to use the bathroom." She wasn't lying in this regard.

McAdam paused and looked back. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded to his companion. "Bring her a glass of water and take her to the toilet. But stay with her the whole time."

The other man leered. He was in his forties, with thinning red hair.

"No worries, Rory," he said. "Looks like she might need me to help her an' all."

Harry shuddered, and turned her face away from them. The bravado she had showed them was a front. She was suddenly very tired. Tired – and scared for her life.


	7. Chapter 7

He advanced quickly towards the house. Dusk had fallen over the countryside, and he was confident he wouldn't be seen, even if someone were watching.

He had forced himself to wait for the shelter of the dark, and during that time, he had focused his thoughts. It had taken brute strength of will to stop his mind from disintegrating into blind panic when he considered what might be happening to Harry. He felt very alone without her by his side. He had to get her back, at any price.

Now he was Dempsey the predator, moving silently and swiftly. The fear had evaporated and the only thing left inside was a cold, animal anger. As he approached the conservatory, he felt as though he could take on fifty men if he had to. _Scum_ he thought, flexing his fingers against the sharp stone in his palm.

The room was in darkness. With one swift movement, he manoeuvred the stone and smashed the pain of glass in the doorframe, hearing the tinkling sound the shards made as they fell to the floor. Carefully, he reached in and manipulated the handle. Seconds later, he was inside.

He crept through the room, out into the hall beyond. Quickly, unconsciously, he registered the detail of the opulent furnishings, the polished wooden cabinets and oil paintings on the walls. Somebody lived in this house and maintained it. It wasn't just a temporary hideout.

Feeling exposed in the hall light, Dempsey stayed close to the wall. As he moved along the corridor, he heard voices coming from a room up ahead. He drew closer and listened.

McAdam and three other men were sitting in the back room, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. They were waiting for the go ahead from Delaney to move the copper into the van. They laughed and joked, but beneath the surface, there was tension. There couldn't be a lot of time before her people came knocking, and this unspoken knowledge hung between them. They'd encountered her partner before - the American with the crazy eyes - and none of them particularly fancied another meeting. The sooner they got moving, the better.

Then Delaney entered the room and stood looking at each of them in turn. They fell silent. He was an imposing man, the kind who, if you saw him in a pub, you'd be extra careful not to knock his pint when passing him on the way to the bar.

He stood well over six foot, with a girth to match and tattoos that covered his forearms. His eyes were cold and blue.

"Right lads. Let's get going." His voice was pure South London.

"Not too long now before the little girl's people come to find her. Daukes – you and McAdam get her into the van, and me, Tyrrell and the other two can follow on behind. We'll take my motor. We're heading for the reservoir. We'll have a bit of fun with her before we get rid. Her and her cohorts have caused me enough grief over the past few months. I'm going to enjoy this mightily."

"She's a tasty piece an'all, boss – touch of class." The ginger haired man looked at the others and laughed.

"She won't be quite so classy when I'm through with her" said Delaney, and though they were hard, something about his tone sent a chill down the back of more than one of the men in the room. Delaney's lips curled in a smile. "Let's get out of here."

He, Tyrrell and the other man left. McAdam and Daukes lingered a few more moments, draining their cans. Then they headed to the kitchen area, and down a brief flight of steps that lead to the small room. McAdam licked his lips convulsively as he fumbled for the keys to the door. There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in his stomach. He didn't really condone violence against women usually, but this one deserved everything that was coming to her. It was going to be an interesting night.

In the dark Harry lay, back on the floor now. She calculated that it had been at least forty minutes since the men had come. She had refused to let the ginger-haired man touch her in the end – she would rather wet herself than succumb to that. There was a dull ache in her bladder, but that was nothing compared to the pain in her head where they'd hit her, and the sting in her wrists and ankles from the bindings.

She thought of her earlier radio call to Spikings. How long would it take them to get here? Two hours minimum, she reckoned, considering they had to locate the place. Assuming she had been out cold for an hour or more, surely they should be close by now? And what about Dempsey, where was he? Her paranoia was increasing by the second, and she began to be convinced that they had been lying to her about assuming she was alone. They had probably got him too, thought Harry bleakly. They just weren't telling.

Despite herself, tears ran silently down her face. Was this how it was going to end for her? Unless Spikings' team arrived and staged a rescue operation in a matter of minutes, it seemed that it might. The men had told her they were coming back to take her away, and she was willing to bet it wouldn't be to a holiday camp. There was no way they would let her go now.

She thought of her father, alone in the world if she were to die and it was almost too painful to bear. She thought of her career: _was any of it really worth it?_ To work so hard; to struggle in a man's world, for it all to end like this? Her eyes cleared a little then, and unconsciously, she tilted her chin. No, she would never regret her career. If tonight were to be the end, she would die proud of what she had achieved at SI10 and before.

Finally, she thought of Dempsey, and the tears came faster. She ran through their relationship in her mind, the ups and downs, their myriad disagreements. When they had first met, he had seemed like an alien to her; a creature from another world. They had kept a wary emotional distance for a long time, trying to work each other out. She wasn't sure if they had ever really managed to do that, and he could certainly rile her like no one else.

And yet, he felt like more of a partner than anyone she had ever known. Together, they were so much better than they were separately: he was her compliment. It was certainly the case at work anyway – they had never got to test it properly in life, too.

She thought of him last night, changing the sheets on his bed so she would be comfortable; still making wisecracks, his bravado masking the real concern she knew he felt. Then this morning, a lifetime ago - Dempsey pale in the early morning light, his eye swollen and discoloured; clumsily making her eggs and toast. She remembered the way she'd put him down ("_You _make breakfast?"), and the other hundred times she had done that before. She turned her face into the carpet and the grief went through her.

She needed him so much. Why had she never told him that? And now she never would.


	8. Chapter 8

A noise behind him, a faint groan, caused McAdam to turn but before he could determine its origin, an arm was hooked tightly around his neck. He was pulled backwards and away from the door.

To his horror, he saw Daukes lying unconscious, blood pouring from a gash on his forehead.

He felt the cold steel of a gun muzzle against his temple.

"Stay still" hissed a voice in his ear, "or I'll bash your head in same as your friend's. Plus, I got a kitchen knife in my pocket. I can cut your carotid artery and send you home to Jesus in about two seconds flat. Now, nice and easy, you're gonna open the door."

The accent was American, but McAdam was too dazed to make any connection. He was still holding the key, and now he struggled to insert it into the lock with the man's arm still clamped around his neck.

Eventually, he succeeded in unlocking the door. He turned the handle and the man pushed him forward. The room was in complete darkness.

Momentarily, the pressure of the gun was released as the man reached to the left of him and in a swift movement, hit the light switch by the door with the back of his hand. Then it returned.

Artificial light flooded the room. The girl was lying on the floor where they had left her, squinting in the sudden brightness. Her hair was damp with sweat, and tears streaked her face. She looked at him fearfully for a second, at first not seeming to register the presence behind her. When she did, she made a small sound.

"I'm here, babe. I'm sorry it took me so long," said the man. Then he pushed McAdam roughly.

"Down on the floor," he said. McAdam considered struggling, but the tight grip around his neck and the gun to his head – and Daukes behind him – convinced him to cooperate. He sank to his knees.

"Lie on your front."

Then the man was over him, tying his wrists and ankles with something course. The method was almost identical to the one McAdam had used on the girl. When he was immobilised, his captor reached up and tore a strip off a dust sheet that lay across the nearby couch. Quickly, he gagged him with it.

McAdam heard the man go out and begin dragging Daukes's prone body into the room too. Lying on the floor, he was now face-to-face with the girl. She stared back at him, her blue eyes full of cold anger. He had the sudden sense of her as an avenging angel and he wanted to look away, but could not. His stomach turned over.

While the man tied up Daukes, he spoke to the girl.

"Are you hurt? Did they break anything?" The voice was full of softness, almost that of a different person.

She didn't speak, just shook her head to let him know she was alright. After he finished with Daukes, he moved over to her and taking out the knife, began to cut her bindings.

McAdam got a clear view of him for the first time, and realised what he had suspected. This was the American - the girl's partner.

After she was free he massaged her wrists and ankles, trying to get the circulation going. She flexed her fingers as well as she could.

"Come on princess, you can do this," he said. "You got two minutes, and then we're out of here."

She sat up and they embraced quickly, the American folding her into him and holding her there. McAdam, watching, felt the power of the two of them together – her fairness, his darkness – and was frightened by it.

Then she was on her feet, wincing in pain, but with steely determination in her face. As they left the room, the man turned and gave McAdam a look of pure hatred and contempt. Then they were gone, the key turning in the lock behind them.

When they emerged into the kitchen, there was no one in sight. Dempsey led the way back into the hallway, heading for the conservatory.

Behind him, Harry was limping badly, the blood supply to her ankles having been almost cut off by the bindings. He had already abandoned any idea of taking on Delaney and the other two men tonight; in her weakened state, Harry was simply unable to move quickly, let alone aim a gun. They had taken her weapon anyway, when they had ambushed her.

No, he thought, for now, the objective was just to get out of this place alive. Delaney could wait. _And when I do get him_, he thought, _I'll take my time. It's personal now. _

He grabbed Harry's hand and pulled her along, conscious of the urgency of the situation. Suddenly, from behind them, a volley of shots rang out. Dempsey pushed Harry around the conservatory door and followed her, looking back to see Delaney and two other men moving towards them. Delaney held a shotgun, and there was a look of pure rage in his eyes.

"Makepeace, get out of here!" Dempsey shouted, taking cover against the wall where she was crouching. She looked at him for a moment, indecision in her eyes, but then nodded quickly and made for the outer door that exited into the garden. He knew it was deeply unnatural to her not to fight back when under attack, but she was weak and unarmed and they both knew the danger was too great.

Dempsey began firing pot shots into the hallway. The three men had taken refuge in another room and now they were going berserk, raining shots into the conservatory from their vantage point. The glass walls of the room shattered like chandeliers.

Flattened against the wall, Dempsey kept glancing around the door frame, waiting for his chance to retaliate. When there was a brief pause in firing, he saw one of the men reloading his weapon, unwittingly exposed. Dempsey took aim and shot him clear in the forehead. The man fell out into the corridor, dead.

Delaney cried out, an angry, distressed roar.

"You bastard! I'm going to kill you, yank filth!"

The shots came even harder and faster. Dempsey's ammunition was running low. He braced himself against the wall, as glass continued to shatter around him.


	9. Chapter 9

_This is the last chapter. Many thanks for all the fantastic feedback, it's been great to get it. It's inspired me to try another story really soon! _

After what seemed to Dempsey like a very long time, the latest bout of firing ceased. He glanced at the outer door: should he just make a run for it? They were bound to come after him if he did, and he didn't know where Harry was. He might be able to outrun the men; he doubted she could in her injured state. The longer he stayed exchanging fire with them here, the greater the chance of her escape.

As though reading his thoughts, Delaney's disembodied voice called out from down the corridor.

"You may as well give yourself up, yank. We've got enough ammunition to keep this up all night, and we'll get you, make no mistake about it. Try to run and we'll come after you."

"What, give myself so you can use me as a hostage to guarantee your getaway, then blow me away anyway?" Dempsey shouted back.

"Forget it. I know how trash like you operates. I ain't becoming canon fodder."

The firing began again. He was down to his last few rounds, and it was becoming more and more one-sided, with Dempsey retaliating less frequently. He wondered how long it would be before they were confident enough in their dominance to simply start advancing towards him, guns blazing.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from beyond the corridor, immediately followed by shouts and a lot more firing. Dempsey held his position, confused. He heard a man cry out in pain.

Then came the sound that made his knees go weak with relief. Spikings' voice, booming through a megaphone.

"Delaney. We've got the place surrounded. There's one of your men down in the entrance hall. You and your colleagues have 10 seconds to come out or we're taking you, alive or dead."

There were angry calls. Then, the direction of Delaney's men's firing changed abruptly.

Dempsey looked around the doorframe. He saw four SI10 men in full combat gear, moving steadily along the corridor as the bullets flew around them. Then through the conservatory outer door, another three of Spikings' men appeared, together with Harry, now armed. He heard a savage cry as yet another of Delaney's men fell out into the corridor next to his colleague, blood pumping from his chest.

Delaney knew the game was up. "Alright!" he shouted. He threw his weapon out into the hall and came out into full view, hands in the air.

Dempsey sank to the ground as the team swarmed past him. He hadn't realised how fast his heart had been pounding.

He watched Fry cuff Delaney, while Spikings ordered some of the other men to search the rest of the house.

"Are you sure this is all of them?" he was asking Harry.

"I think so sir. There are two locked more locked in a room by the kitchen."

She came over to him then, and put her hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her. Her face was still pale and dirty, but the hunted look was gone.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"Saving my life."

"Ahh, it was nothing. You'd do the same for me. Where did you find Spikings?"

"I ran back towards the car and collided with the team on the driveway. I briefed them to come in from the front as you were preoccupying Delaney from the back. Spikings brought the cavalry with him, thank God. Said my message had given him rather a bad feeling."

"Boss's instincts were correct."

"Lying in that room….." She trailed off.

"You know, I really thought I was going to die tonight. I thought they had you too, that we were both as good as dead. That I'd never see you again."

Her voice quavered just slightly. They were standing facing each other now. He reached over and brushed the hair away from her face.

"I was always coming to get you, Angel."

She looked into his eyes, and the knowledge of that passed between them.

"There's one thing I don't understand though," she said.

"What's that?"

"Were did you get twine from, to tie the men up?"

He smiled wearily. "I might not have been to boarding school Makepeace, but I can be prepared too when the situation requires it."

Some hours later, they were back at Harry's place. They sat on the floor in front of the fire, just has they had done the previous evening. This time, it was Dempsey tending to Harry's wounds, bathing the welts on her wrists and ankles.

The firelight danced softly across the hearth.

"Do you feel safe being here now?" he asked her.

"I do. I'm confident no body parts will be thrown through my window tonight," she said.

They were very close. Harry looked into his face. The wound above his eye was closing up.

"Look at us," she laughed softly. "So battered and bruised."

"We deserve a day off. Hell, we deserve a week off. I'm gonna tell Spikings first thing tomorrow," he said.

"Good luck with that."

"There's definitely something familiar about this situation though," he was carefully wrapping bandages around each of her wrists.

"Is there?"

"Yeah. This is where everything started, last night."

She looked into his eyes. "Everything started?"

"Yeah, you know…." He didn't finish. She leaned over and kissed him hard, on the mouth.

It took Dempsey a few seconds to react. Then he was kissing her back hungrily, his hands in her hair.

Finally, they broke apart. There was so much love in his eyes; it took Harry's breath away.

"Maybe I was wrong," he said. "This situation ain't so familiar after all."

"So you're out of your comfort zone?" she whispered.

"You could say that, yeah."

They smiled at each other, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly. Behind them, the fire crackled but other than that, it was very, very quiet.

The End.


End file.
